The Chronicles of Redrought
by AcesOfInfinity
Summary: No summary, I'm too lazy. This is for you, You Xuan.
1. Chapter 1

Have you ever wondered what would happen if you travelled faster than the speed of light; Faster than light, the fastest thing known to mankind itself? Here is the answer. Beyond lies another plane of reality not unlike ours. Different, in smalls ways, but distinguishes it prominently from our world.

It is not a world of technology. Most of the technology in that world remains to be run by steam – And only one nation has the privileges of having such technology. However, the people of this world bear something else to make up for this lack; Magic. At the dawn of time for this world, magic fell upon like dust on the people, enchanting them, blessing them – Or some others might say, cursing them.

Soon, abilities became more prominent than the others, and they congregated, they bred among themselves and expanded into clans. Of course, with so many clans and so many magical abilities with varying degrees of power, there was war.

However, first let me name a few clans.

There are the Kythers to the West. Most of their magical abilities manifests in the form of fire, from simple conjuring of sparks, to the ability to call upon a firestorm to lay waste to a city. A war-like clan, they are separated further into many different, conflicting tribes, constantly trying to wipe each other out.

Then, the Iridonians to the East. A mysterious, secretive clan, little is known about their abilities. However, it is a commonly known fact that this clan is made up of spies and assassins. Many deduced that they have powers that allow them to change forms at will. Some say that they can vanish into thin air, others say that they are simply insubstantial like dust. What they truly were, few knew.

Jahovas, to the South. A peaceful clan, they keep to themselves. However, one might ask; Why has no one attacked them yet? Do not let the fact that they are peaceful people to fool you that they are powerless. Master of illusions, and glass. Most of the fools who have tried to attack them see a field of green grass – Quite impossible within the icy tundra of the south before they are ripped open by microscopic shards of glass.

Getting a bit long-winded, are we? Now, getting to the end, no need to get impatient ..

To the North.

The Archymadeus, a society far more advanced than the other tribes living within the land. What they wield compensates for their lack of magic, for these 'clockwork marvels', a magician might call amazes everyone else. They have weapons that fire further than any bow, and cause much more damage too. They fire black balls of destruction that causes even the strongest fortress to crumble. They ride in metal carriages that run faster than any horse, and fly in some artificial, metallic bird which they call an "aeroplane".

Whatever awe and respect they gain, they lost with one quality; Bloodthirst. They love dominance, and once they have their society organized into tiers and the army settled, they were sent to march on the other clans. The Archymadeus was a well-bonded society, not riddled by infighting, and at the present moment, they outnumbered the other clans five to one.

Last, but definitely not least were the Redroughts, right in the center of these four very distinct countries.

They ruled over a small country which prospered with lush fields, all year round. Feeding off the money-making business of tourism, what prompts another to a question is that; Why haven't they been invaded yet, with so much money and so little people? The answer is simple. The magical bloodline that runs through the females of the Royal Family is easily one of the – If not most powerful magic in the entire universe. The Wishsong.

The Wishsong, the power to simply erase something from existence, just by singing out the appropriate words required to do so.

The Wishsong, the power to make others bow down to you, just by singing, and willing it.

The Wishsong, a power so delicate even a slight difference between notes can bring one back from the maw of death, or pull one away from the gentle touch of life.

The others do not worry, for the Redroughts were a gentle, peace-loving people.

Only one power has been able to stand against it.

Far south, months of journey past the Jahovas and the stormy sea lies a small island entirely built upon water. What is known, is that there used to be another clan similar to the Redroughts in terms of personality called the Ducos. They bore the powers of Artistry, an ability not unlike the Wishsong, though the medium is instead of the user's voice, a pen and a paper.

However, during a freak accident two centuries involving great winds and high waves, every Duco was swept away in a desperate attempt to stop the powers of mother nature with their skills and defend their beloved city.

No one has heard from, or seen them since.

In recent times of turmoil, the Archymadeus Empire has stirred again. It has long ago set its eyes upon world domination, and the only thing that seemed to stand in his way were the Wishsingers – As the people who knew how to utilize the Wishsong was called. With its large reserve of scientists and researchers, they developed a strain of Malaria; One that only sucked the blood of those who had the power of the Wishsong in their veins.

Thus, one by one, the Wishsingers died.

Except for one.

Camilia Redrought, who was merely a newborn baby at that time was just in time saved by a song sung by her mother. The song spoke of how the Wishsong would be sealed within her, of how only by a series of rituals and means will it be unlocked again and roar within her stronger and brighter than every Wishsinger that ever lived. Thus, she was spared from the new strain of Malaria.

Now, the kingdom is under the rule of her father; Valindor Redrought. The Archymadeus war machine is marching ever so strongly towards the kingdom. This time, only the power of every mage clan joined together will repulse this army of bloodthirsty people. And perhaps one .. Artist.


	2. Chapter 2

Camilia Redrought, heir to the Kingdom awoke with a start in her four poster bed. Her pale skin was slick with cold sweat, and her short, rounded hairstyle was now flat against her head from being pressed against the pillow. Shivering, she sat up and looked around her bedroom on the topmost tower. It was a pretty room, with its walls made of hematite – The rock you get your iron from. It gave the walls a red taint to it. Not a blood stain kind of taint, but a beautiful, faint red taint. Camilia, being the Crown Princess had everything she wanted.

On the right side of the room from the French doors in which you entered was Camilia's four-poster bed, placed against the wall. Beside the bed was a carved table in which set a gas lamp. In front of the bed was a bookshelf – Camilia loved to read, and everyone knew that. From ballads of heroic deeds long past, to tragic stories of lostlovers. Heck, she wouldn't even mind reading a book about aeronautical expeditions written by those bloodthirsty Northerners. In the center of the room sat a large fountain. In the middle of it stood a marble carving of a woman dressed in plain flowing white robes and her palms cupped. Water gently spilled out of a hole driven in the marble, flowing back inside the pool. The woman had a gentle, caring face and a tired look to it. However, there was no sign of dissatisfaction and on the contrary; it seemed that the woman was in fact, happy. The other side of the room was dominated by bookshelves, and a study desk. Actually, it was a study desk CUM make-up table. Rumour says that Camilia, even when doing her makeup reads a book as she does it. Funny thing is, she doesn't screw it up and manages to look pretty, as normal. Then, in between her bookshelves is her wardrobe. Unlike every other princess', this isn't filled with dresses and whatnot. Sure, there was a dress or two in there that Camilia would wear for official parties and such, but there were mostly shirts and skirts in there, for casual wear.

Camilia had the same dream that had troubled her for the past fourteen years of life. A woman had sung to her in her dream. Her voice was weak from fever, though Camilia had a feeling she had hit all the notes correctly. The song had done something to her, but Camilia didn't know what. And once the song was finished, the woman closed her eyes and fell to the floor – That was the point when Camilia always woke up. Groping the bedside table, she pulled the crank in which gas was let into the lamp, and two rough surfaces were rubbed against each other. It resulted in a dim flame that illuminated the bedside, enough for Camilia to see her glasses. Most girls looked bad wearing glasses, except for Camilia. Somehow, glasses seemed to bring out her eyes. It brought life to her eyes, making her look like what she truly was. It brought out her inner soul.

She walked over to the window. It was barely light yet – Most of the sky was still dark and the streetlamps remained to me on, but the air was fresh. Looking out of the window, she could see the town that surrounded the castle. First, there were regal mansions and villas, then it turned into middle-class shop houses and lastly, modest huts lined in neat rows and separated by wooden fences. A variety of people walked through the areas and mingled. The rich with the less well-off and vice versa. Market was just opening, with the merchants and stallholders setting up their stalls. Propping her face up with her elbow, Camilia closed her eyes as a small shower of drizzle swept over and kissed her face, and she giggled at the coolness of the moisture. Opening her eyes, she wiped the droplets of water from her glasses and strode over to the French doors, the ghost of her smile still dancing on her face.

_Well .. Now that I'm wide awake, might as well make the most of it. Get an early breakfast and .. Go out and play? _Camilia doubled-back a little and took a pick from the wardrobe. Taking out a plain, black shirt and camouflage pants, she decided that they would be perfect for what she was going to do; Spook another castle sentry.

Breakfast had been a simple affair. She went down a floor to the Dining Room and grabbed a few pieces of toast and a glass of milk. That's all. She'll be doing quite a lot of running today, and she didn't want any food to encumber her. Next, she went back to her room to grab her sling; a leather strap fitted with a cap in it. It was used as a projectile launcher. You could put whatever you wanted to fling inside the cap, and swung the sling by the leather strap. Once you felt that you had gathered enough momentum, you hurled the projectile at your target. It was easy to train, easy to learn and easy to carry. Furthermore, the ammunition required for this wasn't hard to find. You could use any random item that was hard enough to hurt.

Camilia had taken it upon herself to make sure that her father's sentries didn't laze on the job, and she knew how.

The sentry never saw the dark-clad figure ghosting through the shadows inside the castle.

Merging with the prevailing patterns of light and shade thrown by the moon, the interloper seemed to blend into the fabric of the night, matching the rhythm of the trees and cloud shadows as they moved with the moderate wind. The sentry's post was in the outer cordon, outside the walls of the massive castle, by the south-eastern tower. The moat rippled gently behind him, its surface stirred by the wind so that the many reflections of stars were set shimmering in a thousand tiny points of light in the dark water.

Sloping gently away from the castle, the ground was littered with trees and small shady dells where individuals or couples could sit in relative privacy, sheltered from the sun. However, the trees were small and spread out, denying concealment to any large attacking force. _A simple compromise between the provision of privacy and relaxation and the need for security in an age when an attack could conceivably happen at any time_, thought Camilia.

The sentry stood thirty metres to the left of a picnic table. It was fashioned out of what seemed to be a cart wheel nailed to the sawn off stump of a large tree. That spot was a favourite for the Knights and Ladies of the castle to picnic. Several rustic benches were placed around it, and a tree was planted there to shade it from the sun at noon.

The intruder slipped into a grove forty metres from this arrangement before dropping belly-first to the ground. Taking one last look to obtain bearings, the intruder darted out from the grove, face down and headed for the table. However painstakingly slow the progress was, one had to admit that this was a trained stalker who knew that any rapid movement would register with the sentry's peripheral vision. As shadows of clouds passed over the ground, the intruder had rippled unobtrusively across with them, seeming to be just another shadow.

Covering the table alone had taken ten minutes. A few metres away from the objective, the figure froze as the guard suddenly stiffened; seemingly alerted by a sound or slight movement, or just an intuitive sense that something was not quite right. Peering at the general direction of the table, the sentry did not even register the dark, unmoving shape a few metres from it. Satisfied that there was no danger, the sentry shook his head and stamped his feet, before marching a few paces to the right and left, shifting his spear from one hand to another and rubbing his eyes. Bored and tired, he concluded that he had imagined it all.

He moved into a relaxed posture as he yawned, and he knew that he would never get away with it during day-light duty, but it was not even light yet, thus it would be unlikely for the sergeant to come and check on him. The dark figure slid the last few metres into the shelter of the table as the sentry relaxed before rising slowly into a crouched position as the intruder studied the situation. The sentry, after his shuffling had moved a few metres away from the table, but not enough to cause a problem.

There was a sling knotted around the intruder's waist. Now, untying it, the intruder slid a soft, smooth stone into the pouch at the end of it and began to swing the sling in a wide slow circle, using minimal wrist movement and gradually building up speed.

The sentry suddenly became aware of the sound in the dark. It had started off as a deep-throated, almost inaudible hum and slowly grew higher in pitch. It had sounded like some kind of insect. He nearly recognized the sound, before ..

CLANG!

An unseen missile smashed into the head of his spear, the force of the impact snatching the weapon away from his loose grasp, sending it cart-wheeling away from him. Instinctively dropping his hand to the hilt of his sword, he had it half-drawn out before he saw a slim figure rise from the behind of the table to his left. The cry of alarm froze in his throat as the intruder pushed back her cowl to reveal a mass of short black hair.

"Hey hey .. Relax! Its only me." The amusement was obvious in her voice, and a bright smile appeared on her face.

The short black hair and pale skin identified her as Princess Camilia Redrought, heir to the throne.

"This must stop, Camilia." King Valindor said.

He was angry and she could tell. If it hadn't been for the fact that he was pacing around his table he would have used the name Cam, or dear or some other disgusting name for her. Only when he was thoroughly annoyed with her will he use her full name.

"Do you know how embarrassing is it for a king to have a written apology made to his underling? You scared him out of his wits, Camilia! Out of his wits! He claims that its okay, but it still weighs on my conscience that my own daughter did this to him."

Valindor emphasized his tone by slamming a large, muscled fist into his desk. An ink bottle fell off and smashed onto the floor.

"But Father," Camilia reverted to using the formal name for Valindor, instead of daddy or dad or papa, telling him that she meant business. "Its good practice for the future! I mean, you won't know the next time our castle gets attacked and we have to escape silently, right?" she spoke coolly and calmly.

"Camilia, what in the world makes you think that? You are surrounded by multitudes of soldiers and Knights who are willing to lay down their lives just to defend you. Why would you learn to sneak around in the dark with some poacher's weapon?" Valindor sighed, and he sat down again. If it was anything that would be the end of him, it wouldn't be old age, or any enemy soldier's weapon. It would be his daughter.

"We wouldn't know, Father. I think its better if I remain prepared than I get put in a bag and dragged kicking out from this castle." Camilia's tone put an effective end to this argument.

"Fine, Camilia. Look, if you want to do this, don't do it to my sentries out of the blue. We'll arrange times for it, alright? We've got a training ground that can be simulated like that. But on one condition, 'lady classes' start immediately." Valindor now had a huge grin on his face. If his daughter agrees, she'll still be moulded into a lady. If her daughter disagrees, he'll still force her to do it anyway and forbid her from using the sling.

Camilia's eyes widened in distress. She was starting to panic now. She didn't want any lady classes. But she wanted to continue using her sling! She wanted to continue going out into the town to play with the other children there and have fun! She didn't want to be some princess who sits so straight it was as if there was a rod rammed up her back and sip tea with those pretentious ladies in the court and all their fake giggles.

There was only one option; She would have to tolerate. As she said the word, "Alright", someone strode through the door without being announced; Only one person has the authority to do that, and that person was her beloved uncle.

A handsome man standing at a little over six feet, his head was adorned with shoulder-length hair that curled at the ends and a small goatee. His features were the talk in the castle. There was no lady within the castle whether married or not that wanted to get together with this man. Dressed in dark red robes with their edges trimmed in black, the adorned sword – Clarent, which he had obtained when he saved a chieftain of the Kythers added to the effect.

Unlike most royal personnel that kept to themselves in the castle performing "Royal" duties, Camilia's Uncle Noldur was an outdoors man. He had spent years in the army defending the Kingdom from the occasional bandit occasions, and was recognized as the best fighter in the entire kingdom.

"Uncle Noldur!" Camilia's saviour was here. She ran down the aisle to hug her uncle around the waist. Noldur's first reaction was an amused smile as he patted her head, before speaking in his smooth, velvet voice. "Now, what do you want this time? The horn of a Minotaur? The scale of a red dragon?"

Letting go of her uncle, Camilia grinned at him and said cheekily, "A black dragon as a pet would do good for me sometime in the future, but first, tell my father that I should be allowed to continue practicing how to use the sling and not take 'lady' classes." Camilia used her hands and did an inverted commas sign once she said the word 'lady'.

Chuckling, Noldur shook his head and said. "Cammy, I've got to agree with your father this time, and I've heard the conversation from outside. The best option for you now is that you take what your father has given you; Simulated practice of using the sling and whatever practice you want, and also take lady classes, no matter how unpleasant they might sound.

Camilia sighed. She was sunk.


End file.
